His Treasure
by Rayniekinnz
Summary: 'A little peek into the life of Hadrian Potter-Riddle, orphaned muggleborn and 'brother' of the rising political leader, Lord Voldemort.' AU. Slashy hints.


**His Treasure  
>1949 – 1950<br>Malfoy Manor, Wilshire, England**

"I don't need to be watched, you know," Harry muttered, glaring down at his homework. He had long given up trying to work out the assignment, the words blurring before his eyes. It was late, but he refused to go to bed until Tom got out of his meeting – it was _Christmas_ and they had hardly spent any time together!

"Riddle says otherwise," Malfoy replied absently, crossing his legs and flicking to the next page in his off-puttingly thick book. Harry scowled, lifting his eyes to glower at him instead. His mood only worsened at the regal sight – Abraxas really was an arrogant sod, all long limbs and pretty pale hair and the slightest of accents edging his smooth voice.

"I think we've established Tom is overprotective," he rolled his eyes, too annoyed at being shoved off onto a 'baby-sitter' to revel in the warm fluttering of his belly when he thought about how much Tom cared for him. "I think I'm quite capable of sitting on my own for a few hours."

"Hadrian," Malfoy pursed his lips, still not looking away from his apparently _fascinating_ book, "I don't make the rules. Riddle asked me to make sure you didn't do something stupid in the time he is away, and as his most trusted it is my duty to do as he desires. Whinging will not change the situation, I assure you."

"Don't you have anything better to do than trail me like a scolding governess?" Harry pressed on, ignoring him. "You're newlywed and it is Christmas. Isn't—...?"

"Zhivka."

"—_Zhivka_ missing you?"

"I can't imagine she is half-interested in my whereabouts," Malfoy said pleasantly. "I certainly couldn't care less about hers."

"…right," Harry said uneasily, staring down at his desktop and tracing one of the indents in the wood with his eyes. He often forgot most people married for connections and money rather than affection, though he supposed it was foolish to think the latter was more common. He hadn't attended Malfoy's wedding as it was held during the school term, but he had met his now-wife and he had seen quite clearly how little they cared for each other. It was a sad way to live, he thought. A horrible way to bring up a child too, not that he had any knowledge in that field seeing as he was an orphan and knew next to nothing about child-rearing. Still, he pitied anyone who grew up in the loveless environment he himself had been brought up in.

"It's getting late," Malfoy announced with a small sigh, standing and laying his book on a side-table. "I doubt Riddle will be back anytime soon, so I suggest you wash up and go to bed. Would you like me to walk you to your room?"

"No," he grumbled, slamming his book shut and tossing everything into his school-bag. Malfoy said nothing, though his gaze did sharpen somewhat into a glare at the obvious abuse being dealt out to his furniture. Harry muttered "goodnight" and trudged from the fire-lit sitting-room and out into the shadowed hall, ignoring the soft conversations wafting from portrait to portrait.

The house was actually pretty terrifying at night, though Harry refused to run back and have Malfoy walk him after all. He liked the older man, but there was also a fairly tangible competition between them, so to say, for the attentions of Tom. They were constantly fighting for a higher position than the other, though it could be said [and it _was_ said] that they were on completely different levels. Harry was Tom's sweet little 'brother' and Malfoy was his close friend and confidant. It was silly to compare, but they couldn't help it. It wasn't as if Tom told them off, either. No, he seemed to enjoy it, in all actuality.

Either way, he wouldn't admit weakness.

Harry hurried down the hall to 'his' room, locking the door behind himself and sighing at the familiar furniture and warm atmosphere that greeted him. He and Tom often stayed at Malfoy Manor, so they had their own rooms and though he had been a bit sceptical at first, he had made himself at home in his gifted space over the years. Slinging his bag over a chair, he started undressing as he crossed the room to the cracked bathroom door.

It was a simple set-up as far as the Manor bathrooms went, tiled with glinting black granite that acted as stars near the ceiling. A large bath took up most of the room, a standard shower in one corner with a sink and toilet on either sides. Deciding to just take a quick shower he turned on the water and brushed his teeth of the Treacle Tart he had had for dessert as he waited for the stall to steam up.

He caught a glance of himself in the mirror as he pulled his trousers and pants off, pausing to study his reflection. He didn't often indulge in such a thing, considering it to be something Malfoy would stand for hours doing, or even Tom who took great pride in his appearance. Taking the time to actually look at himself, however, he was actually somewhat surprised at what he found.

He was…_handsome_, perhaps was the word? He expected to find his gangly, scruffy body from the year before; limbs long and awkward like a new-born fawn. His hair was still as unmanageable as ever, but Malfoy [he insisted he was merely embarrassed to be seen with such a scruffy-looking child] had shown him how to comb it in such a way that it didn't look half as ridiculous.

His eyes, apparently his most flattering feature, stared back at him, wide and curious. They were an eerie colour, framed by long dark lashes Walburga and Druella insisted every girl killed for. He hadn't quite known whether to take such, eh, _dark_ women seriously on that topic. He studied the rest of his features half-heartedly, giving up soon after and climbing into the shower.

It wasn't as if his appearance bothered or particularly concerned him, either way. Growing up in the middle of the war he had learned not to be picky, but nowadays…when Tom was making a name for himself and they were being constantly watched...

Harry shook his head, turning off the water sometime later and getting out of the shower. He dried off quickly, wrapping a towel around his waist and padding into his room to get dressed. With the room and board came a multitude of outfits, rich fabrics and silks he would never even consider buying for himself. Secretly he loved them, but he would hate for anyone to think he was getting spoiled.

Dressing in soft flannel pyjamas, Harry tossed his used towel into the hamper in the corner of the room and turned the bed-covers down. Retrieving his wand, he dimmed the lights around the room and climbed into bed with a weary sigh, sinking down into the mattress and staring bleakly into the darkness. He waited for a pathetically long time for Tom to suddenly pop up, back from his meeting, before finally allowing himself to go to sleep.

* * *

><p>When Harry awoke a few hours later, it was to voices outside his door. They were soft but firm, arguing if he had to guess. Slowly sitting up, Harry climbed out of bed and approached the sealed door, pressing his ear to the smooth wood.<p>

"—watching us. Should he not be moved to a safer location?"

"That will only make us look suspicious, no? Dumbledore is likely waiting for me to make a move."

"And will you? Our influence only reaches so far in Slytherin these days, friend. Those who feared us have graduated and those who had heard of us are getting fewer. Young Harry already speaks of the scheming urchins in the other Houses."

Tom made a soft sound in the back of his throat, scoffing mostly likely. "Abraxas, do you not see? If our influence is waning, that only means we should make ourselves more memorable. As for Harry's protection, I shall do nothing more than our usual regime lest we garner more attention than we need. He knows a fair share of curses, anyway."

"And if he gets caught up, his wand lost and completely helpless?" Abraxas demanded in a harsh whisper. "What then, Riddle? You hear what they say – we may be gaining the favour of the old families, but those silly Blood-Traitors and Mudblood-lovers grow in proportion every bleeding day! They will target him first, as your only weak—!"

"You go too far, _friend_," Tom said coldly, enunciating each word gratuitously slowly to convey his distaste. Harry could very clearly picture his expression: handsome features closed off, mouth tight and thin and his eyes like shards of coloured glass.

Abraxas was silent for a short moment, voice equally cool when he finally responded. "Please excuse me, it is late and I would like to retire. Good evening."

There were soft snuffs over the carpet and then Tom was walking away too, his door across the passage creaking open softly. Harry stayed like that for a moment longer, wide-eyed and brain working as he thought over their conversation before he slowly crept out into the dark hallway.

Tom had left his door open and Harry sighed silently, knowing he would probably be scolded for eavesdropping. He darted across the hall and locked up behind him, eyes adjusting to the dimly-lit quarters quickly. Tom's room looked much like his own, but his bed was bigger [if that was even possible, considering the standard in the Manor] and his decorating more – mature, he supposed.

Nagini was curled up on the foot of the bed, tail hanging off the edge and brushing the floor in surprisingly soothing flicks. It was almost…hypnotising. She lifted her head upon his entrance, tongue flickering from her mouth and sharp eyes zeroing in on him as if he were one of her more interesting victims – oh yes, _victims_. Nagini was a cruel thing without a care for anything or anyone but herself and her beloved Master. Harry didn't doubt she would take a go at him if the opportunity struck – literally.

He heard the bath running and turned away from the piercing stare, approaching the en-suite bathroom and peering around the corner of the door-frame. The bathroom was similar to his too, but the large bath was directly across from the entrance rather than off to the side.

Tom was undressing, slipping his undershirt over his head and letting it fall to the ground. His strong, broad-shouldered frame was bared for all to see; soft fair skin stretching over firm muscles and sliding into a tapered waist and slim hips. Harry was fascinated by the dimples just above his—

"Abraxas tells me you were misbehaving again," Tom said over the rush of water filling the tub, effectively stomping on his – er, _ambiguous_ train of thought. He didn't turn, voice unreadable.

"I'm sure he did," Harry muttered, cheeks darkening and eyes flickering away as the trousers went next. He didn't make a move to enter the bathroom, content to lean against the wall with his cheek pressed to the frame as he peered inside.

Tom was settling into the water when he looked back again, back still to him and arms resting on the lip of the tub. The water lapped at his ribs, the spicy scent of whatever oils that had been added tickling Harry's nose.

"You know you cannot join the meetings, nor can I leave you to yourself. Even behind the walls of Malfoy Manor, we are not safe. Raids are becoming more and more common, Harry. The Ministry is obsessed with bringing shame to the old families. If they were to invade, how would your presence look? What would they think?"

"They'd think Malfoy was defiling me," Harry grumbled, unable to help himself.

Tom said nothing, but his silence had always spoken far louder – and _harsher_ – than his words ever could. Harry straightened, sucking his lower lip into his mouth and wrapping his knuckles against the door-frame nervously.

He sighed and said reluctantly, "I understand, Tom. I _do_."

"I sense a 'but' in there," Tom said dryly, slipping further into the water and leaning his head against the edge of the bath, eyes closed and mouth parted softly.

"It's Christmas!" Harry burst out, all his frustration leaking into his voice. "It's _Christmas_ and you're never here! You're at meetings or having supper with future minions or attending galas! You're off, _working_, and I'm stuck here with Malfoy and his wife! _I don't think she even speaks English, Tom! _No – never-mind the English part, I don't think she speaks at all! She just alternates between glaring at me and Malfoy! We're supposed to be spending time together, but you're never…here…" Harry trailed off, scowling at the floor, having run out of steam. He felt ridiculous, but also like a great weight had been lifted off his chest.

"Oh, Harry," Tom said softly, voice melting in with the steam curling around his face, floating passed the open door. Harry hunched his shoulders, staring resolutely at his feet. "You know I would much rather spend time with you than those mindless 'future minions'. But I _have_ to work, otherwise we would never get anywhere."

"I _know_," Harry muttered, rolling his eyes sullenly.

"Tomorrow is Christmas Eve," Tom continued as if he hadn't spoken, tone coaxing. "Would you be appeased if I came back after lunch? We could go to Muggle London, like we used to."

"_Before_ lunch," Harry proposed, trying to control his excitement, though he knew he would take whatever Tom offered.

"Fine then, before lunch," Tom allowed smoothly, as if it had been his idea all along. "Leave me now, I have many things to think about and you need to go to bed."

"I'm _fifteen_, not five!" Harry huffed, but stepped away from the wall and tugged on the sleeve of his pyjama-top. "Goodnight, Tom."

"Sleep well, little brother."

* * *

><p>Malfoy wasn't in a particularly chatty mood at breakfast, merely grunting at him when he cheerfully proclaimed the morn to be a good one. Harry almost turned to see the portraits' reactions – some had gasped at his blatant disrespect, others had hissed like vampyres in the sun – but thought it would probably rile up the other even more. As much as he thrived on Malfoy's annoyance, he was quite fond of his life.<p>

"Who's that from?" Harry asked distractedly, raising an eyebrow at the particularly thick envelope Malfoy was opening. It had a large, garish gold seal, but the insignia wasn't one he recognised.

"I do believe who writes to me is none of your business," was the curt reply, immediately setting off alarms in Harry.

_It must be about the war_, he thought with growing worry. Normally Malfoy would give him _the_ look – the look that had him soiling his pants not five years earlier – and mutter about decorum and how he was severely lacking in it. Completely fobbing him off meant they were dealing with something a little more serious than ordinary post.

He watched Malfoy as subtly as he could throughout breakfast, easily ignoring his wife. She was attractive, beautiful even, but her attitude was horrible and he had no time for it. He might have been a little more empathetic if the marriage was an arranged one – sure, Malfoy was pretty, but he wasn't exactly easy to live with – but from what he understood they had both agreed fully to the bonding.

He didn't understand Pureblood politics at all.

Malfoy didn't seem very impressed by what he had read, but he wasn't hurrying to tell Tom either, which meant it couldn't be that bad. Perhaps the writer had made a grammatical error? Lord knew Malfoy was passionate about his bookish things.

It bothered Harry that he would never know, even if it was just a silly mistake that had produced such an expression. Nobody told him anything about the war – he used the term 'war' loosely, seeing as it seemed more like a battle of wits at that point in time – and if he were feeling lucky, he would bet that Tom had told everyone explicitly not to. It was absolutely ridiculous! Some of the Black spawn were younger than him and knew more about what was happening!

But Tom refused to reconsider his position, always ending the conversation quickly if he brought it up. Malfoy and Lestrange studiously ignored him if he even mentioned the 'W' word, and there was no-one else he could really ask other than Walburga, but she would probably kill him herself if he ever 'got in the way' of Tom's plans. He didn't dare approach any of the others Tom 'trusted'.

He just wanted to help, to know what it was Tom was fighting for and how they were fighting for it, but it was like everyone thought his wanting to get involved was ridiculous. He would retreat for then, but he was determined to be involved somehow, in the future.

He finished breakfast and excused himself, wandering off to sit in the library for a bit. He was in a think-y mood.

* * *

><p>The streets were sullen and grey, snow crunching under their shoes as they walked along the semi-deserted side-walk. Tom was a tall, firm presence beside him, shielding him from the suspicious glares of the residents of Little Hangleton.<p>

"This place is…depressing," Harry said under his breath, glancing up at him from the corner of his eye. "Do you…do you think you'll try to get the house, anyway?"

"Try?" Tom scoffed. "'Try' suggests making an effort. The house rightfully belongs to me, after my father's _tragic_…death. Besides, it's not as if there's anyone to stop me. I could just walk in, take it over and no-one would care."

"I thought the servants still frequented," Harry murmured, automatically moving closer as a large man scurried passed.

"They are easily taken care of," Tom said dismissively, pressing a hand to the small of his back as another muggle tried to squeeze by. "Do not fret over such trivial things, Harry. Tell me – if I did secure the house, what would you think about moving in? We would of course have to heavily ward it, perhaps look into using a Fidelius."

Harry felt a familiar warmth seep into his chest, cheeks most likely glowing red as he fought not to smile like an idiot. Tom spoke of their future often – with an emphasis on _their_, never failing to delight him – but right then, after such a miserable holiday so far, it was something he really needed to hear.

"Well," he said eventually, tilting his chin up to meet Tom's blue eyes, "you're the boss. You could just order me to like it, right boss?"

A roll of those pretty eyes – intense eyes – and a delicate snort was his only response. Harry grinned, though it dimmed when he reached out automatically to take Tom's hand, only to be subtly rejected as the limb in question was suddenly resting in a coat pocket. Right. Public.

They walked in silence, passed the sign proclaiming the street-name and ignoring the big, abandoned manor on the hill. They must have looked strange, a man and boy, both dressed fairly well, wandering seemingly without purpose, but neither cared. When they had still been at the orphanage together, before Tom petitioned to get custody of him, they had often taken walks. They went early in the morning or late at night so they wouldn't be caught, though they had stopped caring about that when Tom graduated from Hogwarts. It wasn't as if Mrs. Cole or the matron cared if Harry went missing, anyway. Just one less mouth to feed during the war.

He supposed it wasn't the _nicest_ thing Tom could have offered to do with him, walking aimlessly down sullen, filthy streets, but to Harry it meant the world. It reminded him of much simpler times, when he and Tom huddled together in the orphanage, watching each other's backs and just being together. He had been very young when Tom took him under his ting, and it was always so hard when he went off to Hogwarts. He held fast to the summers and holidays when Tom would return, always trying to better himself so Tom wouldn't suddenly realise he could be spending his time much more productively.

When Tom had gained custody of him, they were spending more time together, but it was barely a year before Harry was sent off to Hogwarts too. With Tom working so hard, he really had to take whatever attention he could get. It wasn't exactly the ideal way to live, but it was moments like these that made it all better.

He really hoped Tom would never find out about him having such soppy, Hufflepuff thoughts in his presence.

He peeked up at him, watching from under his lashes as they worked back to their starting point to Apparate. No matter what, his thoughts always came back to Tom.

He couldn't find it in himself to mind.

* * *

><p>Harry, despite some really questionable ones in his childhood, loved Christmas. The idea itself was quite entertaining and fun and since being moved to a proper house with a stable income and ability to celebrate, he insisted on it. Tom insisted on calling it Yule and nothing else and absolutely refused to even humour the idea of St. Nickolas slipping down their chimney, but he otherwise let him have his way, only sneering a bit when the holiday season came around.<p>

Malfoy seemed to enjoy it too, if his annual 'Yule Gatherings' were anything to go by. He even invited his brother and sisters that year – they had pissed him off the year before, apparently – and let Harry pick some of the desserts that would be served. That would be Christmas night, however, leaving Christmas Eve quite small and cosy with just a few of Tom's other 'minions' joining them for a feast.

Though they would be going back to their little house afterwards, Harry and Tom always ate important dinners at Malfoy Manor – apparently to impress whoever it was they were trying to drag over to their side, though Harry thought Tom liked spending time with his friend, too. He didn't mind all that much, especially since the elves always snuck him extra portions of their glorious Treacle Tart. Holidays were no different to the dinners and almost as important as the political fattening up, in his opinion.

"If you think any harder, you might hurt yourself," Tom said, startling him from his thoughts. _Don't you think so, my pet?_

_Yes, best to stop_, Nagini agreed, slithering in after her Master. _Injured prey are no fun._

"_I can hear you, you know_!" Harry hissed back, scowl falling easily across his face as he sat back on his heels, narrowing his eyes.

"We count on it," Tom said simply. He crossed the room to his favourite armchair by the fire, sinking down and laying a book across his lap. Glancing at him, blue eyes glittering knowingly, he asked, "Now, what are you doing?"

Harry huffed irritably, eyebrow twitching. "I'm trying to figure out what Malfoy got me this year, but it's impossible! He's cast charms on it so I can't hear it rattle or flump inside, and I obviously can't open it yet! He'll _know_."

"Flump?" Tom asked, rolling the word around in his mouth like a disgusting sweet.

"You know, _flump_! The sound clothes or anything soft would make, hitting the side of the box!"

"…right. Well, you only have to wait until tomorrow."

"But that's the problem! What if it's something really _bad_? I'll have to somehow look grateful and happy!"

Tom gave him a long, dry look. "When has Abraxas ever given you a terrible gift?"

"…well, I don't know! But you know him! He's probably gone out and bought something clever to embarrass me with!"

"You're being absurd."

"Fine, don't believe me!" Harry grumbled, getting off the floor and dusting off his trousers. Nagini hissed warningly as he passed, but he merely stuck his tongue out rudely.

"Harry," Tom called, sounding vaguely amused. "I want to talk to you for a moment."

Despite his annoyance, Harry couldn't help melting at the tone. He backtracked begrudgingly, sitting on the arm of Tom's chair and slumping against him when invited.

"I know you like for presents to be given on Christmas Day only, but I want you to have this now," Tom said softly, looking up at him for once. Harry felt a brief flash of satisfaction, though it faded after a moment.

"Alright," he said, eyebrows hitching up. Then, jokingly, "It's not that book, is it? You know I'm not really the studious type…"

"Believe me, I know," Tom said dryly. "But no, it's not the book. It's inside the book." As if to prove himself, he flipped open the thick cover and turned exactly thirty-seven pages. To Harry's surprise, there was a section of the pages cut out in a perfect rectangle. A mass of silver sat in the space, a chain and bejewelled pendant that glimmered in the dim firelight.

"Is that…a locket?" Harry asked quietly, reaching out to brush a finger over the pendant unwittingly. He pulled back immediately, flushing bright red in embarrassment. Tom _and_ Malfoy were always telling him to be careful around unfamiliar objects, lest they be cursed. Jewellery was favoured for cursing.

Tom said nothing however, watching him with hooded eyes; an expression he couldn't quite place. Slowly, confused, he reached out again and allowed himself to make contact, a sharp shiver ripping through his body instantaneously. He didn't let go, gasping quietly as pleasant tingles spread through his hand.

Tom looked pleased, gently nudging his hand aside to pick up the locket himself. He brushed his thumb gently across the face, the chain slipping through his fingers like water. Harry watched, enraptured, as the face glimmered and seemed to shed its skin, changing from a bronze to bright silver like some kind of industrial chameleon.

"Do you like it?" Tom asked, voice barely reaching above a whisper; breath fanning out across Harry's cheek.

"Yes," Harry said simply, feeling a bit like he had been hypnotised. Tom chuckled softly and unfastened the clasp in one smooth move, murmuring for him to turn. Harry did so excitedly, holding back a shiver as Tom's hands ran over his shoulders, fingers brushing over his neck as they fixed the chain.

Harry's eyes widened as a shadow fell over his eyes, his whole body erupting in tingles as the locket hung comfortably against his chest. He felt like someone had smothered him with a flame, but it wasn't unpleasant. In fact, he felt _great_ – as if all the tension in his body has finally released, leaving a giddy, boneless sensation in its place.

Clutching the locket in his hand, he closed his eyes as a wave of – _something_ throbbed through his fingers. Something powerful.

"It looks as perfect as I imagined it would," Tom said, turning him so they were face to face again. Harry nodded dreamily, eyes falling half-mast and lips quirking up at the edges. "_You_ look perfect," Tom continued, something he didn't recognise flashing behind his eyes. Harry didn't have time to even consider what could come out of the situation when his chin was grasped, gently pulling him forwards.

Tom kissed him.

* * *

><p>Harry pulled down his duvet and got inside, immediately cocooned in warmth as the candles flickered and went out; a soft, warm light climbing from the lit fireplace. He glanced at the softly ticking clock on the wall directly across from him, noting the time. Two minutes to midnight.<p>

Dinner had dragged on longer than expected, not that he minded. Tom had sat next him on Malfoy's right, keeping the conversation from getting too boring all evening. The others loved to talk about politics and while he sometimes engaged in it too, it certainly wasn't his ideal dinner-conversation. They talked about all sorts of things, more often than not coming back to his studies. Tom loved to brag about his academic achievements to the others.

Harry would never admit it, but he loved it. He had worked so hard to make Tom proud and as silly as it sounded, he would damn right revel in his well-earned praise. Even Malfoy seemed impressed, often asking about his studies when they met up between school years [during the summer] and holidays such as then. Harry thought he might miss his school-years, though he hadn't a clue _why_. He couldn't wait to graduate and get it done with already.

Closing his eyes, Harry felt a small smile creep across his lips. His wiggled a hand from beneath the duvet, brushing trembling fingers over his somewhat chapped mouth. He could still feel Tom's lips against his, the wisps of their breaths intertwining.

He didn't know what it meant, nor how it would change them, but he knew that something amazing had happened and he couldn't wait to see what Tom would do next.

_This is the best Christmas ever, hands down_, he thought, drifting off to sleep, the locket soothing his racing mind.

* * *

><p>Harry looked up at the Head-Table, catching the eye of the Headmaster – Albus Dumbledore. He had to consciously keep a sneer from forming on his mouth, raising an eyebrow. Tom had an <em>extreme<em> dislike for the man, the defeater of Grindelwald, and Harry couldn't say he had much love for him either.

He watched as Dumbledore caught sight of the chain around his neck, eyes slipping down to study the pendant on the end. Something urgent filled him, something that told him the surprised, ominous look on Dumbledore's face would lead to more than a slip for not honouring the uniform code.

Harry, very slowly, grabbed the locket and tucked it under his jumper, feeling it slide down along his chest and settle into the hollow between his collarbones. The skin warmed immediately, an addictive magic spreading out from the locket and licking across his flesh.

Meeting Dumbledore's eyes once more, he understood one thing. He picked up his goblet of sweetened wine, lifting it in a mocking salute.

The war had begun.

**Finis. **

* * *

><p>This was written for <strong>LexIsFightingRobots<strong> with her request of the following:

_Harry/Tom pairing, please. Not necessarily romantic, but I'd like for Harry to be very emotionally dependent on Tom. No time travel, Harry was, for whatever reason, dumped at the orphanage and raised there with Tom. Tom should be significantly older, taking over a pseudo parent/sibling role while they grew up. For the plot, I really just want Harry still in his Hogwarts years. (Maybe around fifth year? Whatever works best for you.) Living with Tom now that Tom's a legal adult. And for Tom to be starting his own life as Voldemort. Around the start of the first war. I want to see Tom struggle with wanting to let Harry keep his naive innocence, and keeping him out of Dumbledore's reach. (Dumbledore can be aware of their connection [preferably] or not. Up to you.) A single snippet of their lives, during that is really what I like to see. Happy ending, please. Does not have to be a fluff ending. Harry's a Parselmouth, but that doesn't have to be included at all._

I'm sorry it's taken so long, but I hope you enjoyed! :) Since it only a few more days till Christmas, I thought it would be appropriate to post this now ;)

I tried to incorporate everything you wanted, though I'm not sure if I succeeded. I ended up going for a more platonic relationship with some little slashy hints, which I feel is more applicable for them at that moment in their lives.

As for all the left-over questions...you did say a snippet of their lives [runs away] I have ideas to continue this, but unfortunately I cannot do this at the moment.

Thanks to **firefly81** for the betaing!

Merry Christmas!


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